


shoulder to shoulder

by flamesgrace



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Spoilers, duels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-06-18 21:41:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15495273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamesgrace/pseuds/flamesgrace
Summary: The clash of blades can often say what words cannot.[spoilers for Olberic's story]





	1. Chapter 1

_Olberic,_

_Captain Bale and I have trained several more guards to assist us in defending Wellspring. The added help leaves me at loose ends for now, especially since we recently fought off the last of a horde of particularly large and deadly scorpions. I was considering paying you a visit at Cobbleston, if only for a short while. What say you?_

 

_Erhardt_

 

* * *

_Erhardt,_

_Your company would be very welcome. I daresay the villagers would appreciate learning a fighting style that is not my own, if you would be amenable. There have also been a series of raids recently, men far more skilled than most bandits I’ve encountered. I’ve had no trouble dealing with them so far, but together we could root them out with ease._

 

_Olberic_

 

* * *

_Olberic,_

_I’ll set off immediately. I look forward to seeing you, old friend._

 

_Erhardt_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olberic awaits his friend's arrival in Cobbleston.

“Sir!”

Olberic looked up from cleaning his blade to see Philip running towards him, his new, larger training sword in hand.

“I thought you were helping your mother today,” said Olberic, as the boy skidded to a halt in front of him.

“I already have!” said Philip. “She told me I should go out and use my birthday present.” He brandished the wooden sword. It was Olberic’s gift to him, given as Philip's mother, Eleanor, looked on proudly. It was even heavier than the one Olberic had found him using when he returned from his journey. He’d judged the boy to be more than ready to begin sparring in earnest, and Philip had grown stronger still.

Olberic chuckled. “If that's the case, then I’d be happy to train with you today - although I’m afraid I may have to cut it short.”

“Oh! Is your friend getting here today?”

“Most likely. Do you promise that you won't try and ambush him with your sword when he gets here?”

Philip looked confused. “But you said he was a knight too! Surely he’s always on the alert.”

 "I did, and I daresay he usually is. But that doesn't mean he'll be expecting to be hit by a heavy wooden sword as soon as he arrives.” Olberic stood up, sheathing his blade. "Give me a moment to get my training sword; then we can start.”

“When can I train with you with a real sword? I can’t wait to see what fightin’ someone as good as you is really like!” said Philip, following Olberic to his house.

“Not quite yet, I’m afraid,” said Olberic. “I wouldn't want to hurt you. Though I could get some blunt metal blades to train with when you're strong enough to wield one.”

The boy's eyes lit up, “You mean it?”

“Of course. But not only would I not want to hurt you, I also wouldn't want to give your mother cause to worry. When you're ready, yes?”

Philip nodded. “I won’t let you down, sir!”

Olberic smiled and picked up the wooden sword that stood propped up against the wall, “Of that, I have no doubt."

They went over to their usual training spot in front of the headman’s house, Philip telling Olberic about all the new things he wanted to learn now that he was the grand old age of ten.

Olberic had never truly considered the prospect of having a son before, not even in his early twenties when women would flock to the Knights’ training grounds and look coyly at the men training. Erhardt was always popular among them, his good looks earning him frequent second glances. Though in all the time Olberic had known him, he had never taken any of the women up on their not-infrequent offers. _“I don’t have the time,”_ he had said, avoiding, or perhaps ignoring, Olberic’s lingering gaze entirely, and pointing out that Olberic himself had no shortage of admirers.

“Sir?”

Philip was looking up at him, close to poking him in the stomach with his sword.

“What's wrong? You look sad, 'n your head's all up in the clouds.”

“Not sad, just…reminiscing,” said Olberic. “My apologies, I shouldn’t get distracted whilst training a future knight.”

That brought a smile back to Philip’s face. “Will you teach me about feinting?” he asked.

“Ah, a useful tactic, feinting.” Olberic raised his blade. “Let’s see how quickly you take to it."

Olberic had always been impressed at just how quickly Philip had taken to the sword. He did not frequently tell the boy of his innate talent out of a sense of obligation, but out of a genuine belief that he would one day become a swordsman whose ability would far outstrip Olberic's own.

They sparred until Eleanor called Philip in for dinner, and she offered a share to Olberic too, which he declined out of politeness, then acquiesced when she raised her eyebrows and insisted. He promised to train Philip the next day, put his sword to one side, and followed mother and son into their house. At the table, Philip spoke animatedly about what he’d learned that day, while Eleanor watched her son with a look of utmost fondness. Olberic suspected he wore a similar expression. 

Just like he had never imagined having a son, he had never pictured himself having a wife. The image of a woman sitting across from him at the breakfast table would quickly morph into an image of his friend, a small yet affectionate smile gracing his features. He'd hold his gaze across the table, just as he had after Werner’s defeat, with a look that was less guarded, but just as intense.

 _“I have to go back to Wellspring.”_ Erhardt had said, as he'd looked down into his wineglass.

 _“I know,”_ Olberic had replied. _“You must do your duty, as must I.”_

Erhardt had looked up at him then. _“This need not be the last we see of each other, old friend. I’ll write to you.”_ He'd smiled. _“I’m yet to see the place you call home, after all.”_

Anything he would have said in response was interrupted by the arrival of Reggie, one of the revolutionaries, though in truth he had no idea what he would have said. How could he put into words what he thought about his friend, _how_ he thought about him, even when the sting of betrayal was fresh. During those eight long years, the last thing he'd wanted to think about was his desire for the man who had killed his king, once he'd recognised his feelings for what they truly were.

“He's been like this all day.” Philip’s voice startled Olberic out of his thoughts once again.

“What's got you all out o’ sorts, sir?” Eleanor asked.

“Just preoccupied with old memories today,” Olberic answered. “Nothing worrying.”

“Is it because of your friend?” said Philip.

“Your friend?” Eleanor gave him a searching look, “The other knight Philip told me about?"

Olberic nodded. “He served the same kingdom as I, years ago.”

“I'll wager he has some stories to tell, just like you,” said Philip, his entire face lighting up, presumably at the thought of brave and daring adventures. 

“I daresay you’d have to ask him about them yourself.” Olberic smiled. "Though in truth I can’t see him being reluctant to tell you about his giant scorpions.”

After finishing his food and helping his mother with the dishes, Philip dashed out of the door with his sword. Olberic made to follow but was stopped by Eleanor calling out to him.

“A moment, Sir Olberic?” she said hesitantly, drying her hands on her apron. Olberic looked back at her with what he hoped was a kind and expectant expression. "How is he doin' really sir?" she asked. "I know you wouldn't want to hurt his feelings, but I don't want to him get his hopes up, only to..." she trailed off.

"A reasonable thing to worry about, but I'm glad to say such worry is unfounded," said Olberic. "The lad will make a talented swordsman yet, perhaps even more talented than any I've known."

Eleanor looked relieved. "You've no idea how glad that makes me, sir." She smiled. "His father would've been proud of him, I think."

Olberic didn't quite know how to respond. He knew Philip saw him as a father figure, and had done nothing to dissuade him from that notion. He may never have imagined having a son, but having something akin to one brought him more happiness then he could put into words. Before arriving in Cobbleston, he hadn’t spent time with children in several years. He’d forgotten how endearing they could be, especially when they looked at you like you could do no wrong.

Olberic left Eleanor to her evening and looked around for Philip, but found only the town's watchmen making their way to vantage points at the edge of the village.

“What's going on?” he asked the nearest.

“Johan spotted someone approaching the western entrance.” the man replied. “Any ideas who it could be, sir?”

“I do,” said Olberic, “Let me go to the entrance to make sure it's him.” He set off at a jog towards the rocky steps, trying to temper his eagerness.

Sure enough, it was Erhardt who was walking up the steps. He spotted Olberic immediately, a grin splitting his face. The man was as striking as ever, even more so with the setting sun staining his long hair a vibrant gold.

“It's been some time, my friend,” said Olberic, giving Erhardt’s hand a shake with a smile of his own. “How was the journey?”

“Exhausting, actually. But I was prepared for that.” Erhardt replied. “What I wasn't prepared for was- augh!” He dropped his travelling sack on his foot and grimaced. Olberic turned with him to see Philip standing behind them, having just taken his sword to Erhardt’s lower back in an ambush. The boy looked momentarily petrified until Erhardt started laughing.

“Not many people can sneak up on me like that, lad,” he said, still smiling. “I’ll use being distracted as my excuse for not noticing you.”

“I've been practising! Sir Olberic says I’m getting faster with the sword every day!”

“Does he now? High praise indeed, coming from him!”

Olberic watched the surreal exchange in silence, smiling to himself as he watched Erhardt and Philip continue to talk animatedly.

“Philip?” Olberic looked over his shoulder to see Eleanor walking towards them, looking exasperated. “Oh, you didn't sneak up on Sir Olberic’s friend did you? I’m so sorry sir, I-”

“It's fine, really,” said Erhardt. “If he's been trained by Olberic, I’m not surprised he managed to get one over me.”

Eleanor sighed in relief. “’Sides, it’s time for someone to be getting to bed!”

Philip began to walk diligently after his mother but turned back to Olberic after a moment. “Will you still train me tomorrow, sir?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. In fact-” he looked over at Erhardt for a moment, who inclined his head with a smile. “What say you to a lesson from the both of us?”

Philip’s eyes went wide. “You mean it?!”

“Of course, lad. Remember what you said? ‘A knight always keeps his promises’.”

At once, Philip hugged Olberic round the middle; muffling his thanks into Olberic’s clothes.

“Now, do what your mother tells you and get to bed, I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early,” Olberic said, after giving the boy a brief hug in return.

“Good night, sir!”

Erhardt was quiet as mother and son walked out of sight. Olberic looked back to see his friend staring at him with an inscrutable look on his face.

Erhardt broke the silence. “I see she knew I was coming.” he said, smiling slightly. “Been telling everyone about my visit, have we?”

“It was hard to keep the news from spreading once Philip heard that another knight of Hornburg was visiting,” Olberic replied, not mentioning that it was he himself who had told her.

“Ah, I see...” Erhardt paused for a moment. “He's slightly too old to be your son, isn't he? Though I could be wrong-”

Olberic looked away. “You're not. He turned ten not three days ago.”

“Right.”

“He lost his father years ago, in battle,” Olberic explained. “He looks to me as a second father, I-”

“Olberic. You don't need to explain; it's fine." He placed a hand on Olberic's shoulder. "On the contrary, fatherhood seems to suit you."

Olberic caught Erhardt’s wrist where it rested next to his shoulder. “The people here have shown me great kindness over the years. I hope such comfort isn't unknown to you, my friend."

“Not any more it isn’t,” Erhardt said softly, and smiled again. This time it reached his eyes, and they crinkled at the corners, one of the few visible signs of age on his face. The expression suited him.

Erhardt held his gaze for a moment, then awkwardly dropped his arm, bending over to retrieve his travelling sack from the ground. “After a journey that long, I could do with a drink,” he said. “Care to join me?”

"Of course,” Olberic replied, the image of their almost-intimate drink at Riverford appearing unbidden in his mind. “But no contest tonight. I wouldn't want to disappoint Philip by waking up in the afternoon; I know your limits.”

“What limits?”

Olberic laughed. “Exactly.” He began to lead Erhardt towards the tavern.

“I’ll be sure to give you a chance to win back your dignity while I’m here.”

“I had another contest on my travels; I was surprised to find tolerances that rivalled yours.”

Erhardt grinned. “That so? Did they get to hear your giggling?”

“Aye. Which goes to show how hard they pushed me.”

“A rematch, then. Three days time. Let the village see another side to the Unbending Blade.”

“So long as it’s after Philip has gone to bed, Gods know he doesn’t need to see me acting a fool.”

“I’m sure he’d be shocked to see his hero giggling like a village maiden.”

"Mark my words, I'll find your limit one day."

"I look forward to it, my friend."

The tavern was much quieter than usual. Only the two watchmen that Olberic had trained were sat at a table, too engrossed in their conversation to notice the new arrivals.

“Go and sit down, I’ll bring the ale over,” Olberic told Erhardt, who nodded and made for the furthest table from the bar.

“The usual, sir?” asked the tavernkeeper as Olberic approached him.

“Aye,” said Olberic. “And another for my friend.”

“A friend?” The tavernkeeper peered over Olberic’s shoulder. “Another knight is he? Cer'ainly looks the part."

“Yes, another knight who could certainly drink me under the table if I’m not careful,” Olberic said to the amusement of the tavernkeeper,  sliding a few coins across the bar in payment.

Erhardt’s face brightened when he saw the ale, taking his mug with a contented sigh as Olberic sat down next to him.

His friend drank at least half of the contents of his mug before he spoke again. “I think I met those bandits of yours on my way here. Bulky men, well armoured, and unusually well trained for bandits, just as you said.”

“How many were there?”

“Just five. I’m not sure what direction they were heading in, but it was too early in the morning for them to be far away from where they've set up camp.”

It lined up with what Olberic had observed about the group. Highland-based, with a tendency to travel in small groups. The group in its entirety must number several scores, especially since he had dispatched several smaller groups of them already.

“There will be time to dwell on them tomorrow,” he said. He raised his mug. “For now, I’m glad of your company, old friend.”

Erhardt raised his mug in return. “As am I.”

For once, they simply drank and spoke of topics of little consequence. The entire situation felt surreal; sitting and having a relaxing drink with Erhardt would have seemed utterly ridiculous to him not a year ago. Yet there he was, as content as Olberic had ever seen him. As Erhardt told him about the monstrous scorpions he and Captain Bale had fought in Wellspring, Olberic took the opportunity to look at his friend properly. Erhardt's appearance had changed surprisingly little in the eight years they had been apart. Though the small lines around his eyes made him look a little more tired than he used to, the eyes themselves still burned with the same powerful intensity that Olberic always knew them to possess. He wondered if they too had dimmed during those eight years, during a time when they had both wandered without purpose.

They ended up ordering several more mugs of ale, despite Olberic’s initial intentions.

Erhardt lowered his third mug. “You know, I really am looking forward to that rematch.”

“Is that why you’ve seemed so happy all evening? Thinking about making me look like I can’t hold my drink again?” Olberic shot back.

“Ha! At least you were leagues better than the others.” Erhardt leaned forward, grinning. “Remember Tomas?”

“Gods, how could I forget… if you’re a bottomless barrel when it comes to ale, he was a tiny, leaking mug.”

“I don’t think the women he brought to watch were particularly impressed.”

“Ridiculous, I’ve no idea why they weren’t instantly captivated by the flattering sight of ale in his beard.”

They met each other’s eyes and broke the serious facade, laughing heartily into their drinks. For a moment, Olberic could've been fooled into thinking that nothing had happened all those years ago, that Hornburg still stood tall, that his and Erhardt’s friendship had never been broken. Such feelings did not linger long as the last eight years came flooding back, bringing a sense of unwanted awkwardness in their wake. Discussing their shared past was a precarious topic, any levity could be quickly squandered by the knowledge that many of the people they spoke of were now gone, and such times were never to return. Olberic found that although he had forgiven his friend in his own way, it was far more difficult to forget. He should not have expected a few relaxed conversations to overshadow what had happened, no matter how much he wanted them to. 

"Olberic?" Erhardt was looking at him, his face drawn. "Something troubling you?"

"You're not the only one who's said that to me today. I'm fine, truly."

Erhardt opened his mouth to reply but seemed to think better of it, leaning back in his chair with a frown, though something in his eyes told Olberic he understood. 

The tavern keeper chose that moment to inform them that he was closing up for the night, so they finished the last dregs of their ale and wandered out into the night. They walked the short distance to Olberic's house in a not entirely comfortable silence.

"I apologise for making you sleep at the inn," Olberic said as they approached his door. Part of him wanted Erhardt to stay with him in his cramped, one-bed house, but no amount of courage could make Olberic say it, the offer a blatant overture in itself.

Erhardt gave him a wry smile. "It's no trouble. I imagine your house is as grand as mine. That is to say, not at all."

Olberic chuckled. "And you'd be right. Though it's grand enough for breakfast, if you'd care to join me tomorrow."

"Of course."

Olberic bid his friend a good night and was about to shut his front door when Erhardt spoke up.

"The lad's mother..." he said. "Is she-"

"No," Olberic said immediately. It was too dark to make out Erhardt's expression, though Olberic thought he saw tension bleed out of his friend's shoulders. He wondered whether or not Erhardt had been sitting on that question all evening, and he need not wonder what it meant if he had. 

"Good night, my friend," said Erhardt. "I'll see you tomorrow." With one last glance and a nod of acknowledgement, he ascended the stone steps towards the inn and out of sight.

Olberic closed his door. He should've reached out to him, told him to stay, to share his bed for the night, anything to break this tension that had defined their reunion so, the awkwardness that seeped into even their most light-hearted conversations. They could try to remember the past without living in it, and redefine their relationship to how it could be now, not as it was eight or ten years ago. Battles were a familiar environment. His blade, his ability, he could trust. Repairing a relationship was the more intimidating territory. He may have been able to offer forgiveness and friendship by the sword, but did not yet know if he could offer more.

His mind raced as he lay in bed that night, his thoughts inevitably taking the direction they had taken so many nights before. He imagined what his friend's face might have looked like as Olberic had answered his question; relief, hope, even desire. He imagined catching Erhardt’s arm as he made to ascend the stairs, pulling him towards him and burying his hands in that thick hair as he kissed his cheek, his lips, his neck.

Olberic gave in to the impulse and his imagination, seeking the release that brought both exhaustion and satisfaction in its wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the notion of referring to your lover as your 'brother' when there's not even anyone (alive) around to hear jarring enough to persuade me to write it this way instead of anything more than friendship happening in the past. Unfortunately, I've always been absolutely terrible at overlooking parts of canon, and I simply read it that way initially. Also, it was very easy for me to read into the fact that after their reunion, they no longer refer to the other as a brother or akin to one. Regardless, the prospect of writing the culmination of tension after such a long period of time was too tempting to pass up.
> 
> Many thanks to thiefexp for beta-reading.  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A battle, of sorts.

Breakfast was a surprisingly comfortable affair the next morning, even if Erhardt wore far less than he had the previous day. Only a white training shirt covered his chest, stretched taut over his shoulders and clinging to his arms. If Olberic didn't know better, he would've assumed that it was the same shirt as years before, but that garment would've become threadbare long ago. His friend's relaxed, easy mood was tarnished somewhat by the dark circles under his eyes. Otherwise, if Erhardt had slept badly, he hid it well. Olberic stifled a yawn at the thought of much needed extra rest and concentrated on cooking one of the few meals he knew how to make. 

After finishing a flavourful but straightforward stew, Erhardt picked up Olberic's wooden training sword with a smile. "Have a spare one for me?" he asked.

"That I do." Olberic reached under his bed and retrieved another training sword, shuffling his hand down the wooden blade to hold the hilt out to Erhardt. He took it, weighing it in his grasp for a moment.

"It's just like the one I had as a young lad," he murmured. He twirled it in his hand. "Sturdier, perhaps."

"Philip uses one of similar size now," said Olberic. "He'd grown a great deal even during the short time I was away."

"Maybe he'll grow as tall as you."

Olberic smiled. "It wouldn't surprise me. If he gets his way, he'll grow by means of pure determination."

"If you're training him, determination is one trait he certainly won't lack."

Olberic hoped that he didn't flush at the compliment. "Speaking of teachers, an old apprentice of yours is due to arrive back today."

"Arrive back?" Erhardt replied, looking confused. "Who- wait…”  He frowned, thinking. “It's not Gaston is it?"

Olberic felt slightly guilty. Perhaps this was something he should have told his friend during their last meeting, or in one of his letters.

"Yes, it is." He continued hesitantly. "He and his men… attacked the village and kidnapped Philip for a time."

Erhardt stared at him. "But he also had-"

"-Your blade, yes."

"So that was what set you off…"

That had set off the fire in his eyes, as Gaston had put it. "He claimed to be unaware of your whereabouts; thus he pointed me in the direction of Gustav in Victor's Hollow."

Erhardt looked stunned. "I feel as though I should apologise, but-"

"He led me to you, eventually."

"So, he walks free?" Erhardt said after a short pause. 

Olberic nodded. "He assists the headman, mainly. They journeyed to Stonegard a week or so ago in search of better weapons."

"I'm surprised that he isn't behind bars, at the least."

"It wasn’t completely my decision, though he knew what he did was wrong." Olberic smiled slightly. "I suppose I owe him a great deal in the end, transgressions and all."

Olberic wished he could read his friend's face then. He could've called it shame, disgust, sadness, but none seemed to define Erhardt's expression faithfully.

"…You're a forgiving man, Olberic. Though I can't say I'm not grateful for that."

"Some truly deserve it,"

Erhardt looked down at the training sword in his hands. "Perhaps."

The ensuing silence was interrupted by a series of knocks on the door.

"That'll be Philip," said Olberic. "Are you certain about helping train him today?"

"Absolutely." Erhardt threw the other training sword to Olberic. "Though I daresay he won't need much assistance from me when you're there." The downcast expression was gone, replaced by one of cautious excitement, or at least the guise of it.

As they made their way through the village, Olberic noticed that there were far more people than usual lining the small streets. Intrigued by news of their visitor, no doubt, though he could not blame them for their curiosity. He considered mentioning to Erhardt how much the scene resembled the people of Hornburg coming out to watch them train, but thought better of it. It was hard to know which old memories would bring them both happiness and relief, and which would be akin to twisting the knife, opening old wounds.

He looked over at his friend and was glad see him looking content, listening to Philip speak of what he'd heard regarding the difference between one-handed and two-handed swordsmanship. Olberic did not yet know what the boy would be best suited to and feared at times that he would insist on mimicking Olberic's style, even if it wasn't the right one for him. Perhaps he would grow up to be more like Erhardt, all lean muscle and speed, favouring a smaller, shorter blade.

When they approached the training area, it was clear that they were not alone in their intention to train. Two of the village's watchmen were there, Tristan and Johan, already in the thick of a duel. Like Philip, they too had grown stronger, in competency rather than size. Olberic noticed Erhardt watching the fight with interest. He wondered if the easy way the two moved together also reminded his friend of years past.

Tristan broke their stalemate and brought the tip of his blunted sword to Johan's throat. Olberic could not hear quite what was said, but it brought a smile to both their faces as they slung arms around each other's shoulders.

"Sir Olberic!" Tristan said as the two watchmen made their way towards them.

"I only caught the last of your duel, I'm afraid," said Olberic. "Though it's good to see that your hesitance to attack no longer troubles you."

"Yes, well." Tristan looked at his friend. "So much time around this one'll rile you up like nothing else!"

"Oi!" Johan lightly punched him in the shoulder. "Arse."

Olberic looked over at Erhardt to see him looking at the pair with crossed arms and an amused expression. He turned and caught Olberic's eye, inclining his head with a look that seemed to say that he too saw their past selves in the younger men.

"You must be Olberic's friend we've heard about," said Tristan, holding out his hand for Erhardt to shake.

Erhardt shook it with a smile. "Oh? Pray tell, what's he said about me?"

"Just that you're another former knight, and a talented one at that." Tristan furrowed his brow. "Wait you're not-"

Olberic saw his friend's face pale as Tristan's eyes widened in recognition. "Tristan-"

"You're the other Twin Blade of Hornburg, aren't you?! Erhardt, the Blazing Blade!"

Erhardt laughed with what sounded like relief. "Yes, that's what they called me. Many years ago, mind."

Philip looked up at Erhardt with interest, though in not so different a way as he had the previous day. Olberic had noticed that the revelation of his past as a Knight of Hornburg meant surprisingly little to the boy. In Philip's eyes, he had always been a knight, regardless of titles or epithets, the revelation merely giving credence to the way Philip already saw him.

"Why did they call you the ‘Blazing Blade'?" asked Philip. "You can't set your sword on fire, can you?"

Erhardt chuckled. "Not quite, lad. It was something to do with my so-called ‘terrifying speed', I believe."

He was being modest. Olberic had seen first-hand just how easily his friend could terrify swathes of enemies with the sheer speed of his blade, from the sentries right up to the commanders. In some ways, he fought like Werner, but judging by the way Erhardt spoke of the man, there was always something far more sinister about the fear that man could induce. Any similarities between Werner and Erhardt made him feel uneasy, but he reminded himself that certain similarities in their fighting styles were to be expected. Perhaps Erhardt had even been trained by the man. 

As Tristan and Johan began telling Philip how lucky he was to be trained by two famous knights, Erhardt leant in close to Olberic.

"They don't know, do they?" he murmured. "They don't know that I murdered the king."

"Indeed. And I have no intention of telling them."

Erhardt sighed. "Do they not deserve to know the truth? How I-"

Olberic grasped his friend's shoulder firmly. "No. They deserve to know the man you are, not what anger and resentment drove you to do."

Erhardt met his eyes and gave him an incredulous look, then chuckled softly. "What have I done to deserve a friend like you, eh?"

Olberic opened his mouth to reply when he realised that Tristan and Johan had left, leaving Philip waiting patiently. Olberic was fairly certain that this was a conversation best left for when they were alone.

"I think we've left you waiting long enough, lad," he said instead, leading Philip to the centre of the square. The boy readied himself, standing side-on to Olberic, sword arm outstretched. Olberic matched his stance. "Now, try and strike me in the side like you did yesterday."

Philip's initial blows were extremely easy to block, even when Olberic deliberately slowed his reaction time. The boy frowned to himself for a moment, then looked back up at Olberic with fresh determination. He made to strike Olberic's left side, then pulled his blade back at the last moment and darted under Olberic's outstretched arm to hit his right flank.

"The lad's been learning well," said Erhardt. "Though perhaps-" he bent down to ear level with Philip and whispered something indistinguishable into his ear. The boy grinned and nodded at Erhardt enthusiastically.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?" said Olberic, watching as Erhardt positioned himself next to Philip and raised his wooden sword.

Erhardt gave him a grin. "I've seen you fight off scores of men in the past. Surely the two of us should prove no challenge, old friend?" His eyes glinted with enthusiasm as he pointed his wooden blade at Olberic. The contrast between this and their last duel was staggering. This was not his king's murderer, but his old, steadfast friend.

Olberic gave them an exasperated but affectionate look. "How could I refuse?"

Erhardt nodded at Philip, and they both advanced with matching looks of concentration. Olberic's guess that Erhardt would aim for his shoulders and Philip his torso was proven correct, as he parried both weapons, one after the other. The short length of the training blades meant that his opponents could crowd him with ease, so Olberic moved backwards slowly, careful not to back into any of the assembled villagers. Philip lunged at him next, delivering an impressive flurry of blows that Olberic had to put some effort into deflecting. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Erhardt moving slowly to the side. Olberic assumed that his friend was attempting to goad him into turning his back to one of them, so he changed the direction of his backwards paces, placing them both in his line of sight once more. The next assault came from Erhardt, who came at him at full speed, forcing Olberic to eventually push him back by the sword to break a stalemate. A sharp hit to the leg brought his attention back to Philip, which finally gave Erhardt the opportunity he needed to dart behind Olberic and place the wooden blade across his throat.

"Do you yield?" asked Erhardt. Olberic could practically hear his smile.

Olberic sighed, with no malice. "Yes."

The slight pressure on his throat disappeared, and Olberic turned to see Erhardt's satisfied smile.

"Distraction, Erhardt? I thought you above such tricks," said Olberic, poking his friend in the chest with his sword.

Philip moved to stand next to Erhardt. "We did a good job though, didn't we?"

Olberic smiled and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It won't be long until I can't afford to hold back with you at all, lad."

"Were you holding back when you fought Gaston?"

Olberic paused. Had he? He gave practically every battle his all, but sole opponents that proved a true challenge had been few and far between. The only man who had defeated him in single combat in the last ten years stood in front of him.

"Perhaps unwittingly," Olberic finally answered.

"But you were-" Philip looked shocked. "Gods, what are you like when challenged then? Nothing can stop you, sir!"

"Very few things can," said Erhardt. "Though I daresay conviction is his finest weapon."

Silence fell over the group for a moment. _‘It was as if you were protected by a greater power,’_ Erhardt had said months ago, in that desert cave. Is that what he thought it was? Conviction?

"Whether it be for good or ill," Erhardt continued, "The right man need only the stronger conviction to win the day." 

"So it's a battle of wills just as much as a battle of skill?" asked Philip.

Erhardt nodded. "Just so. Against a reasonably talented opponent, at any rate."

"Could I see?"

"See?" said Olberic, "See what?" Even as he asked, he had an inkling of what the lad wanted.

"See the two of you duel, of course!" Even if the idea didn't already appeal to Olberic, Philip's bright expression would've convinced him. He could not dampen the feeling of anticipation at the idea of duelling his friend once more. As much as the prospect excited him, there was always a chance that Erhardt felt that their last encounter had soured the notion of casual duelling between them.

Much to Olberic's surprise, Erhardt grinned. "How could I say no?"

Olberic met his friend's gaze. "I must admit, I feared that you wouldn't want to spar again."

"I find that I cannot deny you the challenge, my friend." Erhardt gave him a searching look. "Besides, the sword can often say what words cannot, yes?"

"Indeed." Olberic couldn't look away. "Get your sword and put on your armour, Erhardt, so we need not dance around each other."

Erhardt's grin widened. "As you wish."

Olberic’s mind raced as he returned to his house and donned his armour. While fighting alongside his friend was an honour, testing his skill against one so evenly matched was a thrill in itself. He and Erhardt had known each other for so long, sparred so many times, yet each time he would spot something different about the way his friend moved. He unsheathed his blade and ran his fingers along the fuller in an attempt to calm himself. _‘The blade can say what words cannot.'_ Erhardt had said. They had already proven those words to be true, months ago. Perhaps it was time to make use of such wisdom once more, to deliver a fatal wound to the awkwardness, the tension, and to try and find an answer to a question he'd dwelled upon for years.

Erhardt was already waiting when Olberic returned to the village square. Judging by the even larger crowd, word of their plans to duel had spread. Cobbleston's villagers stood in a wide, almost-circle around Erhardt. The man himself was turning his sword in the grip of his left hand, eyes trained on Olberic with that characteristic intensity.

"Name your terms, Olberic," said Erhardt, a smile playing about his lips.

In the past, they had fought until first blood when they were fully armoured, but Olberic was all too aware of the risk injury would pose to their plan to root out the Highlands' brigands. It was an even riskier idea when they were not certain of the enemy's strength, and that there was no skilled healer present to tend to their wounds as there would be at a military encampment. He would suggest fighting until one of them was disarmed, but that would give Olberic an unfair advantage with his two-handed grip.

“Until one of us yields," suggested Olberic. He trusted Erhardt not to take it too far, considering their audience.

Erhardt inclined his head in agreement, not breaking eye contact. "I accept."

Olberic turned and took his place at the opposite side of the circle, in front of Philip, who looked as if his birthday had come again.

"We're all rooting for you, sir!" he said.

Olberic looked back at the boy over his shoulder with a smile. "Your support will make all the difference, lad."

He turned his attention back to Erhardt, who stood opposite him in the stance Olberic knew so well. They circled each other slowly, eyes locked together, waiting for the other to act. Olberic was the first to break the tension, lunging forward and bringing his blade down on Erhardt's. The metallic clang rang throughout the square. Erhardt quickly withdrew his sword and stepped to the side just in time to dodge Olberic's second blow.

"Is it only a matter of time until you best me once again, my friend?" said Erhardt, as he unleashed a flurry of blows, every one of them parried by Olberic.

Olberic answered by pressing his advantage, forcing Erhardt to take several steps backwards with the force of his blows. The crowd parted instantly, leaving the stairs leading up to Olberic's house open. With a slight smile, Erhardt took the opportunity to begin ascending the stairs backwards, raising himself up to Olberic's eye level, then above.

"No victory is inevitable, Erhardt," said Olberic as he cautiously pursued his friend. "Was it not you who claimed that conviction is the most powerful weapon in a warrior's arsenal?"

Erhardt bore down upon him from above. Olberic raised his blade above his head to block the onslaught. "Your skills are as finely honed as ever." he continued, raising his voice above the din of clashing metal. "Victory against you of all people will never be inevitable."

Erhardt struck at him with a swipe inches away from his neck. "You flatter me." Their blades met at eye level, metal groaning between them. "Your confidence in me is strong." Erhardt's voice was breathless, his eyes burning. "Too strong, perhaps."

Olberic could not think of an answer in words. Instead, he slowly dragged his blade down the edge of Erhardt's, angling his face away from the tip of the shorter blade. Perhaps they no longer spoke of physical skill, but of Olberic's confidence in Erhardt as a friend, as a man. He concentrated his strength at the base of Erhardt's sword, causing the man to attempt to grip his short hilt with both hands to keep hold of it. Olberic's arms began to ache with the pressure. They were pressed so close, close enough for Olberic to feel his friend's laboured breathing on his face, the heat pouring off his skin. He told himself that he could almost hear the accelerated pounding of Erhardt’s heart, at a speed to match his own. The man's presence was never so intoxicating as it was in the thick of battle.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Olberic withdrew his pressure on Erhardt’s grip and aimed directly at his face. Erhardt immediately raised his blade to to block the blow with wide eyes.

“That’s more like it,” Erhardt murmured. “After our last battle, I almost expected you to go easy on me.”

They circled each other once more. “Never,” said Olberic.

The veil of secrecy that Erhardt had always kept drawn was cast aside in the midst of battle. The slight curl of his mouth betrayed his enthusiasm as their blades clashed again and again. No other training partner or idle challenge could compare; the relentless clashes against one so close in skill, against one so dear to him.

Erhardt aimed at Olberic's shoulder, but expertly passed his blade to his right hand at the last moment and aimed for his stomach instead. Olberic only avoided the blow by staggering back gracelessly. Erhardt took the advantage, switching his blade back to his left hand and lunging at Olberic with another barrage of fast strikes. It was ten years ago once more, and they were still Knights of Hornburg, battling each other for no reason but pure enjoyment, smiles plastered on their faces. Only now there was a heat in Erhardt’s gaze that Olberic hadn't noticed before.

His distraction nearly cost him dearly. He moved just fast enough for Erhardt's next swipe to just glance his shoulder. Erhardt looked irritated as he swung again, this time locking blades with enough force to push Olberic back into the wall of a nearby house.

“If I didn't know better-” Erhardt panted, “-I’d say you were distracted, Olberic.”

Olberic broke their stalemate immediately, using all his strength to push Erhardt away as he swiped his blade downwards, dipping it to leave his upper body open to an expected attack. He parried Erhardt’s inevitable blow, forcing the other’s blade down and finally bringing his weapon to Erhardt’s throat. Olberic could barely hear the gasps of their audience.

Erhardt looked up at him, chest heaving, eyes dark. “I yield," he murmured. 

Olberic slowly withdrew his blade, holding Erhardt’s gaze. His mouth hung open as he caught his breath, his face shining with sweat. He'd wanted to know for certain whether the attraction was mutual, and he had his answer.

“That was amazing, sir!”

Philip had come to stand at Olberic’s side, beaming from ear to ear.

Erhardt tore his eyes away from Olberic to smile at the boy. “I fear your teacher had the home advantage. We'll have to have a rematch in Wellspring one day; I believe the crowd will be more on my side there.”

Olberic didn't have the heart to tell him that with the exception of Philip's words of support, he'd scarcely noticed their audience. Aside from his momentary weakness, their duels demanded no less than his full attention, partly due to his friend's skill, but also because the knowledge that he was the sole focus of Erhardt’s attention was exhilarating. He wanted nothing more in that moment then to drag his friend away to be alone, or to be dragged away himself. 

“A fine show if I've ever seen one!”

Both Olberic and Erhardt turned to see Gaston standing amongst the audience on the stairs; a large sack slung over his shoulder. He nodded at Olberic. “He pulled that same feinting trick when we last fought.” The man was as large and as rugged as ever, the blade that started it all back at his hip.

Erhardt pushed himself away from the wall and held out his hand. “It's been some time, Gaston.”

Gaston grinned, shaking the offered hand. “I was wondering when you'd show up here. Figured it was only a matter of time, judging by the way your friend here kept smiling at bits of paper.” He gestured towards Olberic, who then wished he'd read Erhardt’s letters in the privacy of his own home.

“Did you have any trouble on the road?” asked Olberic, partly to force the man to change the subject.

Gaston’s face turned solemn. “Aye, met a group of three on our way back here. Bloody good, they were.” He glanced towards Philip, who was listening in curiously. “...Perhaps the rest would be best discussed elsewhere.”

Philip's face fell slightly. "Is this about those bandits?" he asked.

"It is indeed," said Olberic. "I'm not sure you'll want to hear about it, lad." Especially not from Gaston. The boy was still understandably wary of the man, as they all were to an extent.

Philip frowned, but nodded. "I'm sure my mother needs help anyway." He made to leave, but turned back and gave Olberic a quick hug before running off. Out of the corner of his eye, Olberic could see Erhardt looking on fondly.

“The headman told me he was going to the tavern,” said Gaston. “We should meet him there to discuss what happened,”

As Gaston began to lead them down the stairs, Olberic caught Erhardt’s arm. His nerves felt raw and exposed after being being torn from the intimate atmosphere of their duel so suddenly.

“Erhardt, I-”

His friend looked at the hand on his arm warily, then sighed. He placed a hand over Olberic’s and met his eyes. “Later, Olberic. I promise.”

Olberic nodded, squeezing Erhardt’s arm lightly before letting go. They walked to the tavern shoulder to shoulder, but in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you scrutinise/inquire Erhardt in Wellspring after Olberic's chapter 4, his epithet is indeed the 'Blazing Blade'. I assume those of you that are familiar with Fire Emblem also found it a little amusing.  
> Also after you've finished chapter 4, you can find Gaston in Cobbleston. His sprite is relatively unremarkable so I imagine it's quite easy to miss him entirely. Apparently he's now working in the village as a bodyguard of sorts, so I thought it made sense to put him in here.  
> The next chapter will be from Erhardt's POV.


	4. Chapter 4

Another restless night greeted Erhardt that evening. Although his body ached pleasantly in a way that usually signified the coming of uninterrupted rest, he woke repeatedly, his mind replaying the day’s events over and over. He gave up on further sleep and resigned himself to being exhausted when the sun eventually streamed through the window into his small room at the inn. Combing his hair out of his face with his hands, he swung himself out of bed and went to look out of his window.   
  
Olberic’s house stood below. Erhardt wondered whether his friend was sleeping soundly, or if he was having just as awful a rest as the previous night, judging by the bags he'd seen under his eyes, up close in the thick of their duel.  
  
Years ago, Erhardt had assumed that Olberic simply saw him as a brother, as they had often called each other such. In many ways, that distinction had been a blessing. Had Olberic ever said anything, perhaps Erhardt would've given in to the urge that had dogged him for years, an urge that may have rendered him unable to carry out Werner’s plan - or cause even more unnecessary anguish had he chosen to kill his king regardless.  
  
A movement outside caught his eye. Olberic emerged from his house, dressed in nothing but his trousers and shirtsleeves. Erhardt watched as the man sat on a makeshift chair, drew his sword across his lap and began to drag a cloth slowly along its length. Olberic cared for his blade like Erhardt cared for his armour; meticulously, and with no small amount of tenderness. He wondered what it would be like to be touched with such reverence, such care, and a hundred other things he believed himself unworthy of. Perhaps new scars were hidden underneath that shirt, touching the remnants of the wound Erhardt had given him all those years ago.  
  
The wound he'd given him all too willingly, he reminded himself — anything for a chance at vengeance, for what he saw as justice. Yet Olberic was still willing to forgive him. Before he'd arrived at Cobbleston, he'd assumed that to wish for anything more would be akin to madness. Olberic had never been one to speak of his feelings openly, but his face was far more forthcoming than his words could ever be. He could not ignore the way his friend's eyes had darkened as he'd swung his blade, the way his gaze had darted down to Erhardt’s lips, if only for a moment. The very fact that Olberic could feel this way about him after all he'd done was nearly enough for him to doubt the man's sanity.   
  
He turned his back on the window. He used to be far more adept at putting his personal feelings to one side and knew he could not linger long on such thoughts. Today was their best chance to rid the Highlands of the brigands that plagued her, as per Gaston’s information.   
  
“ _Blasted men nearly ambushed us on the way back from Stonegard,_ ” he'd said. “ _As much as it pains me to admit, I was no match for four of them, so we hid_.”  
  
“ _Did you see where they came from?_ ” Olberic had asked.  
  
Gaston had shaken his head. “ _No. But they headed off in the direction of a cave complex to the north. There can only be a few places large enough to hold that lot and all their shit._ ”  
  
He and Olberic would not be going alone. Gaston would accompany them, as well as a couple of the guardsmen. Erhardt suspected that he and Olberic could handle the group by themselves, as per their original intentions, but he knew that his old friend would be loath to deny assistance when it was freely offered. Company would also serve as an effective distraction to the mounting tension between them and could allow Erhardt to delay having the awkward conversation he knew must occur eventually. Perhaps this awkwardness was also the result of spending several years with precious little intimate contact, especially after spending the best part of his twenties not wanting for company. Nevertheless, he would not allow any feelings to get in the way of his duty.   
  
Stepping away from the window, he quickly pulled on his clothes and strapped his sword to his hip. It would be best if they left sometime in the morning to avoid the later darkness should the bandits prove to be more competent than Erhardt anticipated.   
  
He had expected the innkeeper to be downstairs, but not Gaston.

The man got up from his chair, smiling. “And here I was wondering if this would be the one day you choose to lie in.”  
  
Erhardt barked a laugh. “Never, my friend. I’ll leave the ale-muddled morning dozes to you.”  
  
Gaston clapped him on the shoulder and gestured to the door. “Don't think our friend Sir Eisenberg is up yet, so what say you to a warm up?”  
  
“Is this your grand plan to catch up with me?” Erhardt said, taking the cue and leading the way out into the village, deliberately not informing him that Olberic was in fact, awake.   
  
“Well it's either that or we catch up over a full fight, and I can't say I'm in the mood to be soundly beaten first thing in the morning.” He muttered something else, but it was too quiet for Erhardt to hear.  
  
“Not tempted to give Olberic a rematch either?”  
  
Gaston raised an eyebrow. “Certainly not after yesterday's performance. That's something best left between the two of you, I reckon.”  
  
Erhardt coughed.  
  
“You know, I thought you'd be more subtle about it, seeing as you've had a lot of practice hiding things from him.”  
  
From most others, that would've been a step too far. But this was a man that Erhardt had known for years, and their time apart had not dampened Gaston’s brutal honesty.  
  
“You should've seen ‘is face when he saw your blade,” Gaston continued. “Never seen a man come alive so fast-”  
  
“-Speaking of my blade,” interrupted Erhardt, “How is she? Been keeping her well I hope?”  
  
Gaston grinned and placed his hand on the hilt of the old sword. “Aye, of course. Such a fine lady deserves to be treated right.”

He led the way to a patch of green just outside the village, the nostalgic smell of early morning dew making Erhardt smile slightly. It had been some time since he had returned to lands that reminded him of his childhood village, and he hated how the sights and smells still made him feel melancholy, despite all the reasons he had to feel contented. 

"Strange, isn't it?” Gaston had come to stand next to him. “All this time running from the past, and this is what we're rewarded with.” He turned towards Erhardt, a wry expression on his face. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”  
  
“Seems too good to be true,” replied Erhardt. “I murder his king, you kidnap that lad, and our punishment is the honour of his friendship. I can barely forgive myself, and yet-” He sighed. “I suppose the fact he killed Werner proves he isn't insane.”  
  
Gaston nodded in agreement. “I was as ready to die as you were. Live by the sword and all. You know the rest.”  
  
“He nearly killed me.” Though he certainly couldn't blame him for wanting to.  
  
He should've expected Gaston’s response, as the man simply levelled him with an exasperated look. “Come on, training usually stopped you from being morose, and you can't tell me that's changed.”  
  
“You wouldn't believe me if I said it had would you?”  
  
“Course not.”  
  
Erhardt drew his blade. “Now, do you remember what I taught you?” he said patronisingly, a smirk spreading across his face.  
  
“Oh shut up, will you?”  
  
His sparring matches with Gaston had always been more relaxing than those with Olberic. He'd never had to try to rein anything in, and even though he'd never tell him so, Gaston was only half the opponent Olberic was. He'd taught Gaston all he knew of the sword and could predict his every move with ease. 

It was not difficult to deduce that Gaston had originally wielded an axe. His stance was very wide for a swordsman, his body still somewhat open to attack, but still ready to move swiftly, and with a great deal of force when opportunity struck.

He had to move quickly to parry Gaston’s first blow, the satisfying sound of their blades clashing ringing in his ears. In a way, he was sparring with not one, but two old friends: the first, his old mercenary comrade, and the second, the weapon he'd used to ruin years of life. As he parried his old sword for the second and third time, he knew he was glad it was no longer his.  
  
He almost paid dearly for his musing when Gaston made to strike his open side, only avoiding the blow by lurching backwards.  
  
Rather than be annoyed at his distraction, Gaston started laughing, his shoulders shaking with mirth.  
  
Erhardt looked at him incredulously. “What?”  
  
“Now, I know I don't capture your attention quite like Olberic does, but-”  
  
Erhardt quickly cut him off by aiming for his head. Gaston didn't stop laughing for the remainder of their exercise.  
  
_____  
  
“I was worried you were going to ask me to have breakfast with you, actually,” said Erhardt, sitting comfortably on the grass after their spar. “Your cooking is disgusting if I remember rightly.” Gaston remained standing, but Erhardt could still see the grin on his face.  
  
“Remember when I made Gustav ill for weeks?”  
  
Erhardt scrunched his nose in disgust. “You're not the one who had to share a tent with him. I certainly remember the smell better than you do.”  
  
“You seen him around?”  
  
“Not recently, though last I heard he'd gone to the Flatlands.” He smiled. “Working to get his formidable reputation back, I’d wager.”  
  
“Aye, like you'll work to get yours back? What's that now, twice in a row he's beaten you?”  
  
Erhardt shook his head. “It's hardly my aim in life to defeat a friend.” Not anymore, at any rate.   
  
“Bet you wouldn't mind getting your own back after losing in front of everyone yesterday though.”  
  
“Oh, he’ll certainly be getting a rematch.” Erhardt smiled to himself. “But so long as he doesn't hold back, I’m satisfied.”  
  
Gaston didn't seem to have a response to that, so the conversation died, and they fell into a comfortable silence.  
  
He'd meant what he'd said; that simply being Olberic’s friend and most capable challenger contented him. Being welcomed into the home that Olberic had made over the years made him feel both indescribably happy and uneasy. It felt like someone else's home, someone else's life, a life that he and his fellows had robbed from so many. He had no right to want more than his friendship.   
  
"I'm surprised you haven't asked about it," Gaston said suddenly. Erhardt didn't need to ask what he was referring to.  
  
"What is there to ask?" he said instead. "I can guess why you did what you did."  
  
"No judgement at all?"  
  
Erhardt frowned up at him. "I'm hardly in a position to judge you for petty theft and banditry am I? Regardless of your reasons."  
  
Gaston grunted his acknowledgement. “Seems ironic considering what you came here to do though, doesn't it?”  
  
“No more ironic than you becoming a village guard to the very place you attacked, surely.”  
  
“True enough. Just make the most of freedom, eh old friend?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
  
After a few more minutes of silence, both men turned at the sound of grass shifting under footsteps to see Olberic walking towards them, now fully dressed with his sword at his hip.  
  
“I was wondering where you were,” he said, offering Erhardt a hand up with a smile.  
  
Erhardt took it gratefully, but quickly let go of Olberic's hand to brush the grass off his legs. "Blame Gaston here. He's far too intimidated by you to spar." His joke was rewarded by Olberic's warm chuckle as the man shook his head in amusement.  
  
"Yet he'll fight you? Yesterday could have easily ended in your victory instead."  
  
"Ah, he's too used to getting his pride injured by me to care any more."

"Oi!" Gaston looked indignant as he pointed his finger at Olberic. "I'll have you know the student has defeated the master more times than one."

Erhardt shoved him playfully. "More than once, as in twice?"  
  
Gaston simply rolled his eyes. “Well, I think we all need a good meal before we set off,” he said, turning to Olberic. “Those two lads still coming with us?”

“Tristan and Johan? I believe so. Eleanor mentioned making a meal for us at the tavern before we go, so I imagine they’ll be there already.”

“Nothin’ like training with this one to work up an appetite,” Gaston said as he gestured to Erhardt. “Though I’m sure you know that much better than I do.”

Erhardt gave an exasperated sigh. “We’ll meet you there, Gaston. Don’t let us stand in the way of your stomach any longer.”

Gaston murmured something indistinguishable as he walked away towards the village.

“He’s been muttering all morning,” Erhardt said when his old friend was out of earshot.

Olberic scoffed. “I can’t say I’m surprised. That was quite a, uh-” He looked a little sheepish as he met Erhardt’s eyes. “-spectacle we put on yesterday.”

“Indeed it was. I would say I haven’t enjoyed a duel so much in years, but that would be a lie.”

Olberic seemed to try and keep a straight face at that, but something shut down in his face regardless. Erhardt placed a hand on Olberic’s arm, offering the same gesture that had been given to him the previous day. “It may have been protecting Wellspring that gave me back my purpose, but fighting you in those caves felt like the first thing I’d done for myself in years.”

Olberic’s expression softened. “And here I thought that battle was for my benefit.”

Erhardt shook his head. “I’ve never deserved your friendship,” he said as he slowly and cautiously moved his hand from Olberic’s arm up to his shoulder. “But I’ve always wanted it.”

He knew by now that he had it and more, but enough doubt must have been evident on his face to persuade Olberic to say no more on the matter. Perhaps he still felt some kind of doubt too. Rather than pry further, he made the welcome gesture of speaking of the day’s plans on their way back to the village. That, at least, was simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kept you waiting, huh?
> 
> jokes aside, i also wanted to share a link to this art from twitter, as it fits with chapter 3 very well: https://twitter.com/hahahashagi/status/1076797155363348480?s=19


End file.
